


What I'd Have Done

by TheBookofGorman



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: "What If" Magic Reveal, Accidents, An exploration of Arthur's character/thought process/development, Arthur processing Merlin's secret, Arthur testing Merlin's loyalty, Arthur's POV, BAMF!Merlin, Betrayed!Arthur, Death, Emrys title reveal, Execution, Flowers, Hanging, M/M, Manipulation, Merlin not knowing Arthur knows, Season 3, Some Merlin POV, Trials, Worried!Merlin, canon AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-17
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-04-26 17:34:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5013721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBookofGorman/pseuds/TheBookofGorman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm not sure what I'd have done."<br/>"And I didn't want to put you in that position." </p><p>But Arthur seemed to have managed that all on his own and now he must face a dilemma no future king should have to face: a struggle between his kingdom, the law, and his best friend. As for Merlin... well, he’s made a terrible mistake that may be beyond forgiveness. One way or another, Arthur's servant must stand trial--if not for his magic, then for his lies, and by the end of it all Merlin might believe he deserves execution.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Emrys

Life in Camelot was going unusually smoothly as of late. No giant attacks by undead armies. No renegade sorcerers poisoning the water supply, or grievous illnesses befalling them. In fact, the height of Merlin's worries of late had been the fact that Arthur had taken a liking to wrestling - in the mud. Which meant a lot more washing than normal for Merlin and there was already a lot to begin with.

But with that aside, Merlin was beginning to worry, because Camelot was never this peaceful for such a long stretch of time. Not with magic still banned and Uther still reigning. Camelot held far too many enemies, and Uther held far too much hatred. Merlin may not have believed in fate or what may have once been seen as silly superstition, but after finding out about his destiny, things like that hardly seemed out of the question. He was beginning to worry that what had once seemed like a nice break from danger may just be the calm before the storm.

He hoped against hope that he was wrong, and that it was just silly, misplaced concern. But of course it wasn't, and he didn't have to wait long for the storm to roll in.

It came in the form of a man, and a name that Merlin by no means wanted spoken aloud in the court.

But when had he ever really gotten his way with things like this?

The court was called to order. Merlin asked Arthur what for, but Arthur didn't seem to know the answer, and that alone caused a nagging worry to knot itself in the pit of his stomach. He followed his charge to the throne room, fastening Arthur's cape around his neck as the Prince walked quickly and unheedingly ahead. Arthur didn't seem worried, and if he noticed Merlin's tight-lipped look, he didn't mention it as the doors to the throne room were opened for him and the Crown Prince took his place by his father's side. Merlin took his solemnly next to Gaius.

The court physician and the servant shared a glance, mutually asking each other the same question. They both had the same answer. Neither knew what this was about.

Uther sat in his throne, gloved fingers to his lips. The court was silent, waiting for his words.

The King nodded gently in the direction of the guards at the door. "Bring him in."

The guards nodded in obedience and swung the doors open once again. Two more guards escorted an unknown man into the room, clad in a long brown cloak, simple clothing, and dark brown rider's boots. He didn't look very threatening, but Merlin got chills looking at him, and a sense of foreboding quickly washed over him. Instinctively, he backed further against the pillar to his right.

The man swept to the center of the throne room with a sort of assured confidence and bowed grandly. "My lord," he said, voice deep and rolling.

Uther payed him a nod in recognition of his reverence. "I have received word that you had something to report," he said. "A possible threat, to Camelot and its people."

The man nodded, rising and lacing his hands behind his back. "This is true, sire. My name is Oliver, and I am no a resident of Camelot, but I am traveler and have dwelled long in the forests within your kingdom. One hears things when you travel amongst those who wish to remain hidden."

Uther's eyes narrowed and he leaned forward. "Of what people do you speak?"

"The Druids, sire," the man said, and Merlin pressed the palms of his hands to the pillar. Hard. "A peaceful, but magical, people. I know that magic is banned in your lands and I do not condone the use of it. I have seen first hand what destruction it can cause. But they provided me with shelter, and that I could not refuse. However, one hears things. The Druids speak little aloud - much of what they share with each other is spoken with their magical minds. But I overheard a conversation I found most disturbing."

Uther leaned even further forward. "What is it that you heard?"

"Not much, I am afraid," the man admitted. "But they spoke of a man. A sorcerer. A sorcerer that they seem to believe is the greatest sorcerer to have ever lived."

The court stirred. Murmurs broke out. Gaius shot a glance Merlin's way. Merlin met it for about a half a second, trying to keep his growing terror in check as his gaze flickered back to the man.

Uther's eyes had gone wide. "Is there such a thing?" he breathed, sounding horrified. "One greater than them all?"

The man nodded gravely. "If the Druids believe it to be true, I fear it is," he confirmed. "But that is not all. They seem to believe that this sorcerer has already been born and that he is here, in Camelot."

That did it. The court exploded into nervous frenzy. Merlin looked to Arthur, and cringed to see the Prince's genuine worry and outrage. His hand was noticeably on the hilt of his sword. The thought of having such a powerful sorcerer hidden away in his kingdom clearly riled him enough to be thinking about plunging his sword into them. Merlin cringed at the thought.

Uther seemed to be struggling with several conflicting thoughts, but after a moment, he raised a hand and the court quieted.

"This…great sorcerer," the King began slowly, fingers clutching the edge of his throne in taught distress. "Was he given a name?"

Merlin held his breath. His stomach twisted again, and this time he could feel his magic twisting with it, as if preparing to do what was necessary if the situation called for it.  _Please, no,_ he thought.

But to his despair, the man nodded.

"Yes," he breathed, in the smallest of voices that somehow seemed to echo like the roar of cannon fire.

"Emrys."

~O~

"I just don't understand it."

He really didn't. With a frown, Arthur held his arms out as Merlin pulled his shirt over his head.

"Understand what?" the servant asked, and Arthur hardly tried to hold back his eye roll.

"This... _Emrys,"_ he said, grinding his teeth as he fastened his belt himself. "If he is as powerful as this man claims, then why would he come here, to Camelot, without making himself known? Surely hiding does nothing."

Merlin didn't answer right away. "He must have a reason."

"Probably not a good one," Arthur growled, as he held out his hand for his sword. Merlin obediently gave it to him. "I'll have to conduct a very thorough search. I'll start in the least likely places, just to get them out of the way. Morgana's chambers. Yours. Gaius. Then move on to the rest of citadel and the lower town."

"Of course, sire," Merlin said, sounding distracted.

For the first time since the court had convened, Arthur paid his servant proper attention. The idiot seemed more out of it than normal - and that was saying something.

"Are you alright, Merlin?" he asked, less concerned than he was curious.

Merlin took a second to look up at him. "Fine," he said finally. "Just worried for Camelot, is all."

Arthur sighed. "Aren't we all," he murmured. "I'm off, then. I expect my armor polished when I get back, and for you to stay out of significant trouble."

He expected a quip in response. In fact, he waited for it, but it never came.

Arthur left his quarters with a small frown.

~O~

The search had yielded nothing. No one seemed to even have heard a whisper of the name "Emrys", let alone found to be harboring any artifacts that pointed to sorcery. The man who had come to warn them had had no physical description to offer, so Arthur had no idea who he was looking for exactly, and no newcomers seemed to have moved to Camelot very recently. But that didn't necessarily mean anything. This sorcerer could have been in Camelot for ages and they might have just not known. Hell, he could have been here before Arthur was even  _born_  with what little they had to go on, and with the lofty title that this Emrys had been given by the Druids.

The wording still made Arthur's skin crawl. "Greatest sorcerer to have ever lived" did not sit well with him. The idea of sorcery in general made him uneasy, as he knew it to be dangerous, unpredictable, and inherently evil. But he'd come to accept its existence, one way or another. He would not let himself fear it.

But the  _greatest_ sorcerer? A magic above all other magic? A sorcerer above all other sorcerers? Everything about that screamed bad, bad, bad.

Arthur wondered if he were to find this sorcerer what he would do. He had been trained how to handle combat with sorcery, naturally. But what match would he be against such power? What match would his  _kingdom_ be?

The whole thing hung over his head like a storm cloud, and despite how many times he ran over the idea of it in his head, he still couldn't understand it. From what the man - Oliver - had seemed to believe, this Emrys hadn't been in Camelot for some short amount of time. But why would he not have already struck? What more could he be cultivating, if he already held so much power? Surely he may just be lying in wait for the right moment to strike, but somehow Arthur felt like that wasn't it.

He hadn't proposed the question to any of the knights, or his father. Only Merlin, and the servant's answer was still playing on repeat in his head.

_"He must have a reason."_

Yes. He must. And that's what worried him.

~O~

Arthur lie awake, unable to sleep. His father and he had spoken upon the completion of his report, and the conversation had been grave. Uther was just as concerned as Arthur, but in a different way. He seemed to have no conflict in wondering just  _why_ this great sorcerer was hiding in Camelot, only on how to destroy him. Contrarily, Arthur thought the motive to be extremely important in the question of how to stop him - how were they supposed to combat if they had no idea what he planned to do?

But his father was being very narrow-minded about the whole issue, boiling it down to its roots. The sorcerer must be found and eliminated, and that was that.

Arthur wished that he could share his father's straightforward conviction. It was one of the most troubling things about his future ascension of the throne. It scared him that when the time came he might not be ready to make those decisions with the confidence the kingdom called for.

But he wanted to know the  _why._ Why would this enemy, whose existence had not been known to them, want to hide within their walls without striking? To gain trust? Hear secrets? Make plans for destruction? Take over? All were possibilities, but all of them still rang untrue to Arthur for some odd, unexplainable reason. It just didn't add up to his previous encounters with sorcerers. They were conniving, yes. Patient? Certainly. But they were always up to something. Always striking in some way, manipulating their will on others in one way or another. There was usually some sort of disturbance in Camelot before any sort of magical happening, or the slightest of telltale signs. Something stolen. Someone kidnapped. Horses killed, attacks reported, but recently Camelot had been...quiet. Peaceful.

It didn't add up.

_He must have a reason._

With a small sigh, Arthur sat up, fumbling for his comb. It was no use trying to sleep…

And his worry seemed to have only found reflection in one other person.

~O~

Arthur had never snuck around to someone's window before, let alone Merlin's, but he was already here so there was no point in going back. Besides, despite being an absolute lazy, clumsy, idiot of servant, Merlin was usually pretty good when it came to listening and trying to understand. Arthur just wanted to know that his worries weren't unfounded...or maybe he just wanted someone he trusted to tell them that he was being stupid. Either way, maybe then he could get some sleep.

However, he hadn't even made it to the Physician's quarters when the door opened and a figure slipped out.

Arthur immediately stashed himself away, peering at the figure from behind a pillar to try to identify them.

It didn't take long. It wasn't like he ever wore much else.

Merlin looked around for about half a second, before leaving his home behind and headed out toward the lower town in a fast pace that Arthur hardly ever saw when the bloody servant was supposed to be doing something important, like his chores.

Arthur's forehead crinkled. What was Merlin doing slipping out at this time? Both collecting herbs for Gaius and going to the tavern ran through his mind, but Arthur wasn't about to let either of those answers satisfy him. He was not blind to his manservant's tendency to find trouble instead of lying low, and the idiot didn't seem to have any weapons on him. With a powerful sorcerer hidden away somewhere within these walls, Arthur certainly didn't want Merlin to get himself hurt, or worse.

He soundlessly began to follow.

~O~

To Arthur's further concern, Merlin had gone straight into the forest and his length of stride hadn't changed. He seemed to know exactly where he was going, although he was clearly not following any of the hunting trails, and Arthur's only explanation was that he was heading to collect a specific herb that he got often, and that's how he knew where to go.

Again, though, the explanation did not sit right with him, and he continued to follow.

The servant seemed completely unaware of Arthur's presence, which could be a good or bad thing. Either Merlin was far too confident with sneaking out and about at this hour, he wasn't very observant, or he was distracted. Probably all of those, but the last one seemed to be the most likely, as Merlin was clearly muttering to himself in a distracted, concerned sort of way that mirrored how Arthur had been feeling lately, and the more they walked, the more Arthur grew worried that Merlin may be trying to catch this Emrys on his own. He couldn't fathom how, but it made sense. Merlin's behavior earlier, the lack of banter, the sneaking about. Arthur knew that Merlin was fiercely loyal to him and Camelot, but trying to take down a sorcerer on his own was just flat out  _stupid,_ even for him, and Arthur set his jaw in preparation to intervene if he needed to _._

They'd come to a large clearing, an open grassy patch that let the moon shine its glare over the hills and provided a spectacular view of Camelot over the trees. Merlin walked out into it without hesitation, coming into the center of it and planting his feet, looking to the sky.

Arthur's nose crinkled in confusion. What the hell was he doing, star gazing? He wasn't sure what he had expected Merlin to do, but he had guessed that there might have been someone in the clearing waiting for him, maybe another traveler with information, or, hell, even a Druid. While consulting with sorcerers could still mean condemnation in Camelot, Arthur would be lying if he hadn't considering going to the Druids himself to find out more about this mysterious Emrys.

But there was no one here, and Arthur was beginning to wonder if he'd misjudged Merlin's intentions and the other man was just being an oddball as always and liked to sneak out to stare at the moon now and then.

But then Merlin opened his mouth.

A noise unlike any other sound Arthur had ever heard escaped from it. Loud and rumbling and guttural,  _inhuman,_ and in no way shape or form could actually be coming from his manservant.

But it was. And Merlin was speaking.

_"O drakon, e mala soi ftengometh tesd'hup anankes! Erkheo!"_

The roar seemed to die in his throat once the words faded, and Merlin's shoulders seemed to shake with the effort of whatever the hell he had just screamed.

For a minute, there was complete silence in which Arthur just stared from behind a tree in an incomprehensive stupor.

And then there was the sound of flapping wings and a  _dragon -_ a dragon that had haunted Arthur's dreams not long before - came soaring down to the grass and landed before Merlin, tail swinging.

_No._

Arthur gasped and all but collapsed against the tree, shaking, but Merlin didn't look in the least bit surprised. "Kilgharrah," he greeted.

"Merlin," the dragon replied in a sort of amused drawl that sounded almost friendly. He bowed his head in Merlin's direction. "What is it this time, young warlock? Another threat to the Crown Prince of Camelot?"

Arthur could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears. His blood had gone cold, and his mind was whirling in an inability to understand what he was witnessing. Too many things were clattering around in his system, trying to categorize themselves into something that actually made sense. But none of it did. The dragon -  _the_ dragon, the one that had almost laid waste to Camelot, alive and well - speaking to Merlin respectfully, and by no means threateningly. Merlin, referring to the dragon by name and calling for it in...in whatever the hell that language had been. And the dragon referring to  _him_ , Arthur, in a casual tone, as if to discuss rescuing him from some scalding bathwater.

And the word 'warlock'. The dragon had called Merlin ' _young warlock.'_

An infernal ringing had grown in Arthur's ears, like his brain had somehow been disconnected from the rest of his body. He could no longer feel the tree he was clutching. He could only look on and listen.

Merlin was speaking again. "For once, it's not Arthur," he was saying. "It's me. A man came to Camelot today. He said he'd spent time with the Druids, and warned Uther that they believe the greatest sorcerer to ever live may be hiding within Camelot."

The dragon made a sort of rumbling sound that sounded much like the noise that had escaped Merlin's throat not long before.

"Well, he is hardly wrong," the dragon replied. "Did this man give Uther a name?'

Merlin bit his lip, lowering his gaze. "I'm afraid he did," he said. "Emrys. The whole of Camelot is on alert now. I know that it could be much worse, but it worries me."

"You are right to worry, young warlock," the dragon said. "The King may not know who Emrys is, but even knowing simply your true name may have grave consequences. The Druids will protect the prophecy with their lives, but if Uther were to get his hands on it, he will do everything in his power from letting it come to pass."

 _Your true name...your true name...YOUR true name…_ Arthur's vision had gone fuzzy and it had suddenly become very hard to breathe. He felt like he was going to pass out, but it suddenly, ironically, made sense. Why no one had ever heard of Emrys.

Some men live by two names.

Merlin exhaled. "I know," he sighed. "I know. But what should I do? Uther will not just forget what he's heard. He won't stop until he finds Emrys, and I fear that Arthur will not rest until he discovers why Emrys would want to come here in the first place."

The dragon chuckled. "Yes, I suppose the Prince would be curious. But you would be unwise to reveal your true self to Arthur now. He is still young, untested, and unfit for the throne. The time for the change you hope to bring is not yet upon us."

Merlin huffed again. "Yes, I know," he muttered. "But maybe there is still something I can do. I could disguise myself in some way. Make up some reason for being here and let them think that Emrys has left Camelot."

"And what good do you suppose that would do?" the dragon questioned. "Putting a face to Emrys should be avoided at all costs. You would only become more hunted than you already are."

"So, what, you expect me to do nothing?" Merlin asked, clearly frustrated.

"Yes, young warlock," the dragon answered, sounding equally as exasperated. "But you have failed to heed my words in the past. Do as you see fit, but the consequences are on you and you alone."

Merlin fidgeted, arms crossed and struggling. The dragon chuckled.

"Did you expect it to be easy?" he questioned. "Carrying a burden such as yours."

"It's not like I chose it," Merlin snapped. "I was born with magic, and that prophecy was written long before I was a part of this world."

"That does not change the fact that your power was given to you and you alone for a reason," the dragon reminded. "Many would kill thousands to wield what was inside you from the beginning, and that is why it was given to you."

"You say that with such confidence," Merlin murmured. "How can you be so sure? I am supposedly the most powerful sorcerer to walk this earth, and yet I feel trapped at every turn. How am I supposed to protect Arthur if I have to constantly backtrack and keep myself hidden?''

"It is necessary," the dragon rumbled. "This you must know. Yours and Arthur's destinies are intertwined. Neither of you can escape that. Succeed or fail, Albion will rise or fall by yours and the young Prince's hands."

Merlin exhaled slowly. "Comforting."

"This world is not designed for comfort," the dragon said. "And especially not for creatures of magic like you and I."

"Of course not," Merlin sighed again. "But you are right. As much as I hate it, there isn't much I can do. I'll lie low."

"You're learning," the dragon congratulated. "I may be able to teach you something yet. Until next time, Merlin."

And with that, the massive creature spread its wings and took off into the night sky.

Merlin watched it go and Arthur watched Merlin, heaving from shock and horror and gulping incessantly.

Words kept tumbling through his head, a mix of the dragon and Merlin's voices running together like they were one.  _More than you are hunted already...burden...born with magic...prophecy...inside of you…_

_Yours and Arthur's destinies are intertwined. Neither of you can escape that. Succeed or fail, Albion will rise or fall by yours and the young Prince's hands..._

_Most. Powerful. Sorcerer. To. Walk. This. Earth._

It couldn't be true.

But there he was. Merlin, heading back toward the forest like he hadn't just summoned a dragon and had a casual conversation about the fact that he,  _Mer_ lin _, his_ manservant, was Emrys, the prophesied greatest sorcerer to have ever lived.

It shouldn't ring true. It should feel all wrong and make his skin crawl and his head spin, and to an extent, it did, but at the same time it all seemed to make sense. The way Merlin had answered him earlier, when he had asked him why Emrys would ever hide in Camelot.  _He must have a reason_ , he'd answered. Because of course there had to be some bloody reason.

There had to be a bloody reason why his servant was a sorcerer.

He got up, suddenly back in control of his own limbs. Merlin had slipped back into the forest, heading back in the direction of Camelot and Arthur soundlessly followed...but this time with his hand on his sword.

He had to be sure. Calling a dragon was plenty evidence enough that Merlin was not all he said he was, but he hadn't actually performed any magic, and suddenly Arthur just wanted to see it. If Merlin really was this Emrys, he wanted to see it. The most powerful magic in the world, locked inside this...this man that he'd come to trust. Hell, a man that he had been in the middle of seeking out to console him that he was overreacting about the warning.

He hadn't been overreacting. Clearly, he hadn't been reacting severely enough.

He continued to follow, but at this point he was basically on automatic. His emotions were bubbling in a mixed melting pot, fighting with one another and messing with his system. He felt angry, confused, and deeply sad all at the same time, and he was shaking, shaking like a leaf. Above all, he felt betrayed. Several lengths ahead of him walked a man that he had trusted undoubtedly with his life on more than one occasion. Before him was a man that Arthur himself had saved in countless incidents, and a man that waltzed into his chambers every morning and spread his curtains and told him to get out of bed and start his day. Before him was his friend.

But this wasn't him. Not really, was it? No. Walking before him, all innocent in his buckled boots and leather jacket and lanky, clumsy form was a person that he had just been indirectly told was the most powerful man to walk the earth, and that he could just not bring himself to believe.

He wanted to scream, but he settled for clenching his teeth instead, sweat - or maybe tears? - staining his face. He couldn't even bring himself to think of Merlin as a threat to Camelot at this point. He knew it to be true - any magic was a threat, and certainly a man that wielded the most powerful magic was automatic public enemy number one. But Arthur still couldn't even begin to imagine it. The image of Merlin opening his mouth and roaring was still cycling in his head, over and over, but that wasn't testament enough. Arthur wanted to see this 'true self' the dragon had warned Merlin not to reveal. The  _true_  Merlin, because clearly the man ahead of him was no man.

It took him far too long to realize that Merlin had stopped and the servant's - no,  _sorcerer's_ \- eyes were trained on the trees behind him.

Arthur immediately froze, pressing himself to the nearest tree. A stroke of fear he hadn't expected rocketed through him. Arthur had never feared Merlin before.

But the look on Merlin's face right then was not the Merlin he knew. Merlin's hands were still at his sides, but he was scanning the forest with a steely look on his face that Arthur had seen many of times before. On opposing knights bent on killing him.

There was silence for a long moment, in which Arthur kept himself hidden and tried to keep his breathing even and just Merlin stood there, waiting.

Finally, he spoke.

"Who's there?"

Arthur sucked in his breath, holding it.

It was still his voice. Merlin's voice, but for some reason, it sent chills down Arthur's spine. He sounded...confident. Commanding and foreboding. All qualities that Merlin had never showed. Qualities that Arthur hadn't thought he had.

But they were there now, and when something stirred to Merlin's right - Arthur's left - Merlin whipped around with a speed Arthur had never seen before, arms snapping up palms first.

There were twigs cracking and Arthur pressed himself even further into the brush, staring where Merlin was staring as whatever was approaching came through.

Stringy white hair. A long brown robe and an awkward gate. Carrying herbs.

Merlin instantly relaxed. Arthur did too - somewhat.

"Gaius," Merlin breathed. "You startled me."

The physician raised an eyebrow. "Going to curse me, were you?"

Arthur felt like a hand had reached through his chest and squeezed his heart, and any relaxation he'd experienced left him.  _Gaius knew._

Merlin laughed nervously, looking down at his hands and rubbing them together uncomfortably. "No," he said. "I mean...no, of course not."

Gaius frowned at him. "You must be more careful, Merlin," he said. "Especially now. Uther is on the hunt for Emrys, and he will suspect anyone with magic of him."

"Yes, thank you Gaius, I have already gotten that lecture once today," Merlin said tersely.

Gaius raised an eyebrow again. "Is that why you are out here at this hour? Have you been consulting with the Great Dragon?"

Merlin fidgeted. "I don't like just sitting around idly," he said. "I wanted to ask if there was anything I could do. Throw Uther off the trail, feed him a false prophecy, anything."

"All those would be reckless and foolish," Gaius tsked.

"Kilgharrah said the same," Merlin sighed. "It just worries me. It all worries me."

"You always worry," Gaius murmured, and he handed Merlin the herbs. "Now, make yourself useful. I still need sticklewort."

Merlin wrinkled his nose at the smell of the herbs. "Do you really need herbs at this hour?"

"Patient came in about an hour ago," Gaius said. "He doesn't need immediate treatment, but soon. So are you to help me, or not?"

"I don't know where any sticklewort is," Merlin complained.

"Of course not," Gaius gripped. "But I need those herbs crushed and mixed together in a paste. Here."

He handed Merlin a bowl, but nothing to crush or mix the leaves with. Now it was Merlin's turn to raise an eyebrow.

"Oh, really, Gaius," he grumbled. "You knew I was out here, didn't you? And you knew that this paste would take a long time to make by hand, so to save time for your patient, you came out here where no one would see us to magic it for you."

"Of course not, Merlin," Gaius snapped, sounding offended, but he continued on, brushing the leaves around them in search of sticklewort. "But my patient is waiting, so I do suggest you hurry."

Merlin huffed. "All this talk of secrecy and you're no better than Arthur," he murmured, but he obediently placed the herbs in the bowl and held his hand over it. Arthur finally let out his breath, hardly realizing he had still been holding it, and clutched the branch in front of him in a death grip, watching.

Merlin's fingers spread out.  _"Ta'specile fatuna fa ser sespience,"_ he chanted easily, and as Arthur watched, his eyes glowed gold.

There was a slight rustling, like a breeze had picked up, and before Arthur's eyes, the leaves began to swirl together until they become one, glued to the bottom of the bowl in a thick, greenish-brown paste.

Merlin smiled down at the bowl smugly. "Done," he announced. "Found your sticklewort yet?"

"As a matter of fact, yes," Gaius answered, straightening with a few more leaves in his hands. "Let us go. I trust you know your way in the dark?"

"I can still see everything fine," Merlin answered.

Gaius stared at him for a second, before nodding. "Yes, I'd forgotten," he mumbled. "Come on then."

The physician began to make his way back toward Camelot and Merlin followed. Neither looked back.

This time, though, Arthur didn't follow. Instead, he had slumped against the tree in a dizzy stupor, head back against the bark, eyes squeezed shut and brain trying to process what he had seen. What he had heard. His sword lay next to him, drawn at one point, but now fallen from his shaking hands.

The words wouldn't even come anymore. The thoughts. He had his proof. He'd seen it now, small and simple, but he'd seen it. Merlin's magic, but that was not even what paralyzed him.

All he could see were Merlin's eyes, sparkling molten gold, and even when he pressed the heels of his hands to his face and everything else went black that was all he could see.

Blue becoming gold.

 


	2. The Why

Arthur didn't go back to his chambers when he eventually stumbled back into Camelot.

His emotions were still a tangled mess. Part of him had hoped against hope that if he'd stayed there, slumped against that tree long enough, they would have straightened themselves out and he would have been able to wrap his mind around this whole thing, but of course he wasn't that lucky. If anything, he was even more conflicted about what course of action to take than before. The only thing he'd known for sure was that he couldn't stay in that forest anymore. Everything kept switching from blue to gold and he felt like he was going mad.

He'd thought maybe returning to Camelot would clear things up a bit, releasing him from the elemental woods that used to seem so benign to him but now felt so...magical. Every gust of wind seemed to have emanated from Merlin's will somehow, and every leaf that fell appeared to twist as if it were going to magically transfigure into something else.

But here, in Camelot...magic was outlawed. It wasn't supposed to be even in the near vicinity. Everything before him in the deserted marketplace, the moon overhead, the streets deserted...it was all supposed to be grounded in reality. Everything here was under his father's jurisdiction and control, and eventually, his.

But suddenly it didn't seem to be so. Suddenly, every home appeared to be possibly harboring a sorcerer. Every bed of straw could be hiding a magical talisman, every walking staff an instrument of magic.

Certainly, sorcerers had infiltrated Camelot before. But never,  _never_ had one gotten so close to Arthur. Merlin was his manservant, someone at his side every day since the sorry little scrawny boy from Ealdor had saved him from being impaled through the heart. Arthur may not have been happy about it at first, but he had never questioned that act. Merlin had saved his life and before long, the servant had become one of the few things Arthur could rely on. Knights came and went, but Merlin was fiercely loyal and all his own. Despite being a simple servant, Merlin treated Arthur like an equal, and Arthur hadn't realized how much he'd needed that before then.

But now...now that had all been flipped on its head. Merlin was not a simple boy from Ealdor, nor was he just a manservant with a knack for banter and being a total blabbermouth. And here Arthur had thought Merlin couldn't keep a secret for his life.

But he had. Merlin had  _magic._  He was a sorcerer, and not just that, but a sorcerer that the Druids held in high regard. Emrys, supposedly the greatest sorcerer to have ever lived. How could Merlin,  _Merlin,_ be Emrys? It made no sense. What could he  _possibly_ hope to gain by lowering himself to become a servant?

The obvious answers flipped through his brain. Secrets. Surely, Merlin had heard plenty of court secrets from being so close to Arthur, but never had there been any suspicion of secrets being leaked or a traitor in their midst, and no matter how Arthur tried to convince himself it may be true, he couldn't make himself believe that Merlin would sell him and Camelot out. It made no sense to him why, but somehow, the idea of Merlin having magic seemed much more believable than Merlin selling secrets out to enemies of Camelot.

But if not secrets, what then? Arthur didn't see what Merlin would hope to do with his knowledge of Camelot that he didn't already have at his fingertips. He had full access to the citadel, Arthur's chambers, everything. He had the full trust of the court, the staff, even Uther, for the countless times that Merlin had proved his loyalty to Arthur and Camelot. If even his  _father_ hadn't questioned Merlin's loyalty, the naysayer to end all naysayers…

It didn't add up. None of it did. It seemed almost as if...as if Merlin,  _Emrys,_ was more than content with living in Camelot as a servant. The greatest sorcerer in the world, polishing Arthur's armor for the rest of his life and being totally content with that. It sounded ridiculous even in his head. Sorcerers didn't put themselves  _below_ regular people like that...not without some superior agenda. They were powerful. Magical. Near inhuman and living on a separate plain from those not like them.

But Merlin didn't seem to do that. Arthur had seen some frustration at the class system, yes. General disagreement to the execution of magic users, which made sense. Arthur, too, had had his misgivings on that in the past, as well as Morgana and Guinevere. But, in general, Merlin seemed to genuinely enjoy being involved in Camelot's affairs, and he was always there if Arthur needed him, prattling and all.

That was the part that Arthur still couldn't seem to grasp. The whole thing was making him dizzy, but that detail was the one that sent him spiraling into disbelief and confusion.

_If Merlin is Emrys, why is he here?_

He couldn't let it rest. Everything he'd been taught about magic was thrashing around his head along with every other thought tumbling through it at the moment. He knew that his training told him to go report Merlin to his father immediately so that a group of knights could be dispatched to detain him. But Arthur pushed that voice aside. This was different. This was  _Merlin._

This...this was personal.

Before long, he was at Merlin's window, ironically the place he had set out to be originally. But that seemed like ages ago. He'd been like another person then.  _Merlin_ had been a different person then. Or at least, he had been in Arthur's head.

To his surprise, Merlin was still up, sitting on his bed in his white night shirt and mindlessly sharpening one of Arthur's swords by hand. As Arthur pressed himself to the cold stone, peering through the glass at his sorcerer manservant, he found himself surprised that Merlin wasn't using magic to sharpen it. Did Merlin actually do all his chores by hand, even when he could obviously do them magically?

Arthur had seen him use magic to create the paste back in the forest. Supposedly, Merlin was an incredibly powerful sorcerer. And yet, here he was, sitting there thoughtfully and sharpening Arthur's sword as if that were a completely normal routine for him, even while alone.

It just kept getting more and more befuddling, but Arthur didn't have any more time to dwell on it, because just then Gaius entered.

Merlin looked up at the noise. He smiled lightly at the physician, before going back to the sword. "The guard all right?" he asked.

"Yes," Gaius answered, and he pulled up a chair, sitting down next to Merlin's bed and lacing his hands in front of him. He leaned back. "The paste is healing his rash well. Thank you for that."

"Not a problem," Merlin replied easily, and he held up the sword to the light so that he could check it, obviously letting Gaius know that there was no need for a thank you, or a lecture.

But Gaius didn't leave. "Merlin," he said, and his voice was grave.

Merlin looked back at him very hesitantly, as if dreading what was to come. "What?"

"On my way back," Gaius told him slowly. "I ran into Uther."

Merlin's expression changed in the slightest of ways. His eyebrows furrowed somewhat. His neutral expression turned slightly darker.

His eyes remained fixated on the blade. "What's he doing up at this hour?" he asked.

"He couldn't sleep," Gaius explained. "He's worried."

Slowly, Merlin put the sword down on his bedspread. He stared at it pointedly, arms draped over his lap. "About Emrys," he inferred.

"He asked if I thought it would be wise to send Arthur and a group of knights out to find the Druids and see what more they know about Emrys," Gaius reported. He didn't sound happy.

Merlin bit at his lower lip, wringing his hands like he suddenly didn't know what to do with them. "What did you say?"

Gaius sighed, leaning forward and pressing a tired hand to his temple. "I said it would be dangerous and I'm not sure what good it would do, as we don't even know if this Emrys means any harm."

Merlin looked down. He retrieved the sword again and continued to sharpen it, more slowly this time. "I don't."

"Of course not," Gaius agreed. "You and I know that. But Uther will never see it that way."

Merlin ran a rather strong stroke down the blade. It made a distinctive  _schink_ sound. "Do you think Arthur might?"

"You can't tell him."

Merlin sighed heavily, dropping the sword with a  _fwunk_ and leaning back against his pillow, rubbing at his eyes like he hadn't slept in days. "I know. But this...this is what I was worried about, Gaius. This is why I went to talk to Kilgharrah. The Druids know that I am Emrys, and they know the prophecy. Kilgharrah wasn't worried. He said the Druids would lay down their lives to protect the prophecy from Uther, but I'm not so sure all of them would be willing to do that for me. I find it hard to believe an entire magical race believes that I have any hope of turning this kingdom around."

Gaius frowned. "You don't know that," he insisted. "You don't."

. But Merlin just sighed, slipping off his bed with arms crossed, pacing. "I'm just being realistic," he said. "I've already met my fair share of sorcerers who think that doing what I'm doing is nothing short of betrayal to my kind. They'd probably like to run me through just as much as Uther would."

"Those people are narrow minded," Gaius countered, seeming frustrated that Merlin would even worry about such a thing. "Consumed by hatred after years of persecution. They don't see the future you do, and they don't have the patience to wait for its time."

Merlin tapped his fingers thoughtfully against the crook of his elbow. "Maybe," he relented, but he didn't sound too convinced. "But Kilgharrah did agree that if Uther gets his hands on the prophecy, it would not bring about any good."

"No," Gaius muttered. "There I must agree. If Uther were to hear that you are destined to unravel everything his regime has built, he will go mad trying to find you and kill you. It will consume the rest of his reign, and possibly Arthur's too."

Merlin slowly sat back down, picking up the sword for the third time and running his thumb over the jeweled hilt. "I'm not unravelling _everything,"_ he murmured, more to himself, it seemed, than to Gaius. "I'm just trying to turn around the parts that need to change. The hatred of magic. The needless bloodshed and conflict. The distrust. But that can't be done with magic. It's diplomacy. That's what I think the other sorcerers don't understand. Turning Camelot around is something only Arthur can do."

"And only with you at his side," Gaius pressed.

Merlin snorted, leaning back again. "So everyone keeps telling me."

"You know it's true."

Merlin exhaled. "Maybe," he said for the second time, although this time around with slightly more conviction. "Either way, Uther must not get his hands on the prophecy." He rubbed at his eyes again with the palms of his hands, and this time when they pulled away, he looked a good three times more tired, dark circles on his eyes incredibly prominent. "Or any prophecies, for that matter. There seems to be far too many. I'm assuming he's most likely going to send Arthur after the Druids tomorrow?"

Gaius frowned, fiddling with his own hands in a small display of worry. "That's the way it's looking, yes."

Merlin looked down once again, thinking. "Maybe there is still something I can do, then," he decided finally. He picked up Arthur's sword one final time, checking its sharpness, before sheathing it.

Gaius studied his charge's face critically. "Get some rest," he ordered in a somewhat fatherly tone. "You need sleep. And maybe try not to worry so much. It's not good for you."

"I feel like half of my destiny is worrying," Merlin muttered sourly, but he obediently lay back. "But Kilgharrah is right. No one ever told me it would be easy. I'm lucky to have you, Gaius."

Gaius smiled and he shook Merlin's foot affectionately. "And I you, Merlin. Good night."

"Good night."

And with that, Gaius left, leaving Merlin alone.

Merlin let out another long sigh, scrunching up his pillow and staring up at his ceiling like maybe it might provide him with some answers. Then, slowly, his eyes fluttered close and his grip on his pillow lessened.

Arthur watched him, both waiting until he was sure Merlin was asleep to take any sort of action, and also to process. Like before, the mass amount of information he'd just heard was swirling in his head like a tempest, and he felt more like slamming his brains out against the side of the window than trying to sort through them.

But something about this conversation differed from the one Arthur had heard before. This one had mentioned other sorcerers...and not in a friendly way. As Arthur bit at his lip, trying to make sense of it all, he couldn't find any way to twist what Merlin had said to paint other sorcerers in a good light. From Merlin was saying, the other sorcerers Merlin had met did not agree with whatever it was Merlin was doing - 'turning Camelot around', as he'd put it. If anything, the other sorcerers seemed to find him a traitor, and Merlin appeared to believe they'd like to kill him if they had to chance...which was ironic because his father would definitely wish to do the same thing.

If anything, Merlin seemed to be straddling some sort of dangerous line, working an agenda that didn't align with any other sort of party but his own, and from what Arthur could tell, Gaius and this dragon were the only one's in on it. And it...it involved him. Merlin had said that only  _he,_ Arthur, would be the only one capable of 'turning Camelot around', not him or his magic, because it was a 'diplomatic' matter...whatever that meant.

Normally, the idea of being wrapped up in any sort of sorcery would make Arthur's blood curl, but not this time. Instead, he just felt very...cold. Like something he couldn't quite put his finger on before had suddenly hit him full in the face. It all did make very much sense. Merlin seemed worried about Uther getting his hands on some prophecy, a prophecy that spoke of Merlin unraveling everything Uther had done in his rule. Or not  _everything,_ as Merlin had insisted, but the parts that required unravelling.

Arthur could take a wild guess what those were. The ban on magic, first and foremost. Of course Merlin would want that. He would want his own freedom. But past that...Merlin had talked of bloodshed. Distrust. Conflict. All of which were no doubt a problem right now. Was that Merlin's other aim? Achieving peace? United kingdoms?

Slowly, Arthur just shook his head, feeling the back of his skull scrape across the stones as confirmation that he was still there. That made no sense. The kingdoms united sounded more like a far-fetched fantasy than a reality. His father believed that war was inevitable and that all of the kingdoms conforming to Camelot's aims was beyond unrealistic. Arthur had always agreed, but he had to admit that the idea of finding peace stirred something within him. Up until this point, all his father had done was prepare Arthur for the continuation of his rule - true to everything Uther thought to be right. Rarely was Arthur's say asked for or his sway given account. Arthur tried not to think much of it. After all, eventually he'd be King, and until then, he must do as he was told. Such was the system.

But that had changed, and now that Arthur looked back he realized just how drastically. Arthur was  _not_ his father. That he'd come to understand and even come to terms with. He thought differently, his resolve and conviction swinging far more to Merlin's than it did his father's and suddenly...suddenly it was all crashing down on top of him. All these realizations about himself... how many times someone had told him "when you're King, things will be different."

That had all started when Merlin had arrived.

For it had been  _Merlin_ who had always encouraged him to follow his heart and what  _he,_ Arthur,believed to be the right path. Not Uther.

Is this...is this what Merlin believed to be what the prophecy has foretold? Staring through the window at the man Arthur had thought he'd known, he'd never felt like he was looking at more of a stranger. Somewhere within his tiny, warped little sorcerer servant brain, did he think...did he really think that he could be like some sort of undercover advisor to Arthur? Encouraging Arthur to defy his father further and further to bring about a whole new Camelot?

It seemed like an incredibly undermining and slow undertaking for a sorcerer, especially since Arthur couldn't see Gaius - if not Merlin - looking to assassinate his father and speed the process up any. Gaius had always been a loyal to Uther even when it was obvious he disagreed with him and Arthur couldn't see Gaius aligning himself with any sort of devious plan that boded ill for Camelot and its people, even if such a plan was concocted by his loved charge.

But all the same, the possibility still gnawed at the back of Arthur's brain. He didn't want to believe it but he could not totally dismiss it all the same. If Merlin was half as powerful as the Druids claimed he was, he could easily enchant Gaius into joining his backward crusade of using Arthur to bring magic back...and he could easily have enchanted Arthur himself.

Arthur didn't feel enchanted. He'd been enchanted before and he knew what magic felt like, but all the same he could not strike out the possibility. Merlin was the single most closest person to him and although Arthur felt like these feelings he'd been having - these convictions that strayed from his father - were nothing less than his own, he could not be sure. He could not be sure of anything when sorcery was involved and...and by God, why hadn't Merlin  _told_ him?

That's where the stab really lay, he realized. That Merlin had  _lied_ to him all this time. If Merlin really,  _really_ just wanted to bring peace to the kingdoms and strike out what he believed to be black in Uther's rule, why hadn't he just told Arthur so? Some little part of him screamed the answer - would he have listened? - but he still felt so utterly betrayed by the lies that kept sneaking into the light this cursed night that he couldn't bring himself to care about that part. If Merlin really meant no harm, if he  _really_ trusted Arthur to accomplish this great destiny he spoke of...then why hadn't he just  _asked?_

If was the hurt that finally took hold of his sorrily torn and confused heart after a good ten minutes of lying against the side of the physician's quarters in complete disarray. With red cheeks and twisted features, it was ultimately that sense of betrayal that compelled him to draw his sword and bring his angry fingers to the cold latch of Merlin's window.

It didn't take much to jimmy it open. Some latent part of Arthur's mind wondered why it wasn't enchanted with some sort of protection. Was Merlin just that confident? He supposed he had every right to be. No one would suspect such great magic to be locked inside such a scraggly, young figure. No one had.

Swinging the window open with calculated force, Arthur crossed the sill and came to a rest on the worn floorboards with a small, barely audible  _thump._  His blood was beating in his ears in tune with his racing heartbeat, and he hated it for racing.

His heart be damned. After all, it had been  _Merlin_ who had told him to listen to it, and right now, Merlin himself had messed it up so bad that Arthur could no better understand what it was telling him to do than he could understand just what sort of twisted person lay before him. A sorcerer? A servant? A friend? An enemy? All four? Did  _Merlin_ even know the answer to that, because Arthur sure as hell didn't.

But he did know one thing. What his head was telling him. The logical part, the part that had grown up and been honed to be the prince he was and is, long before Merlin sauntered into the picture. The damned part that told him that everything he'd heard from Merlin up until this point was a blatant confession that the man before him was Emrys, a dangerous, hunted sorcerer and….and the best thing under the law for him to do, right here and now, would be to strike said sorcerer through the heart where he lay.  _Fair trial be damned,_ his father's voice spoke inside his head.  _A magic above all magic? Chains will be no good. Strike him now, son. Strike him while this great threat can still be squashed._

Latching onto his burning feeling of betrayal, a small flame in his chest that was the only thing that made sense right now, Arthur raised his sword like he had done countless times before. Two hands wrapped around the grip, point facing straight down, and the bulk of it raised over his head. Balanced and graceful, sharpened and cleaned just that morning by...

He wouldn't allow himself to think it. It wouldn't be the first sorcerer he'd killed, unconscious and unarmed.  _But not really unarmed, right?_ He'd always thought that. Justified by that. A sorcerer had no need for a sword. Certainly, Merlin had never asked for one. They themselves were the weapon, and Arthur had always thought it would be a nice death, being caught unawares. It spared them the anticipation that came with execution.

But staring down at Merlin... _Merlin…_   _God,_  this was not a sorcerer strewn unconscious in the woods before him. This was his manservant, the closest thing Arthur had ever had to a friend tucked halfway underneath his covers with one toe poking out and one hand clutching his pillow to his cheek. His breathing was nice and even, his hair all tousled even from the mere half an hour he'd been asleep and as Arthur watched, he rolled over with a groan, dragging his covers with him in a giant heap.

" _Stop,"_ he murmured vaguely, and despite his ungrateful tone a ghost of a smile was visible on his lips. "Stop it you...you  _dollophead_ …"

Despite himself, Arthur's hands began to shake. The blade was before his face, held directly over Merlin's vulnerable chest but wavering, visibly shaking in a physical manifestation of his weakness. God,  _God,_ he couldn't do it. He couldn't do it. He couldn't kill him. Not him.

He took one step back and almost tripped flat on his back over another one of his swords, the one Merlin had been sharpening. The one Merlin had been sharpening for  _him_ , without complaint and without magic,just before bed.

And that was it. Any resolve he'd had crumpled back into the black hole of uncertainty. The sword in his hands promptly slipped from his grasp and it was a miracle above all others that Arthur was able to catch it before it clattered to the ground and awoke Merlin, but it was more of an answer to himself than anything. He couldn't kill Merlin. He couldn't do his duty, not like his father would wish him too.

But this didn't excuse anything, and it certainly didn't bring any sort of closure to the confusion still swirling around in Arthur's brain, or the mixed emotions thrashing in his heart. By the law, he should skewer Merlin, here and now, but he couldn't do it. By the law, then, he should drag Merlin straight to his father, or at the very least, go tell Uther all he had learned, but he couldn't do that either. His father cared little for the 'why.' Merlin would be executed by Uther's hand, completing what Arthur could not do, and Arthur would be left with greater uncertainty than he'd had before, and grief on top of it because he was kidding himself if he told himself he wouldn't grieve, as much as he shouldn't.

Merlin had already confessed enough for Uther to pass judgment. In the eyes of the law, Merlin had already seen trial, but that wasn't good enough. With a sudden rush of resolve, the only true resolve he'd felt since the moment Merlin had opened his mouth back in that forest, Arthur reclaimed a hold on his sword and pressed the tip to Merlin's chest.

The fabric of Merlin's thin nightshirt bent with the small force of his blade and instantly stilled Merlin, as if even in sleep he sensed what was becoming of him.

"Merlin," Arthur whispered, his voice wavering at first, before growing decidedly steely. " _Emrys._  By the power invested in me as Crown Prince of Camelot and by the power invested in me as your Master, in the light of such abnormal circumstances, I hereby put you under a trial of my own design. You've already failed in the eyes of my father, if he were to hear what I've heard. However, if you truly are the sorcerer the Druids say you are, then as future King of Camelot, I want to know just...just why you're here. I want to know  _why._ "

The last word came out with true venom. With practiced grace, he retracted his sword with a flick of his wrist and stepped back to the window, face grim.

"It'll be a fair trial," he promised, and in that alone he was sure. "If anything you have ever said to me is true...don't fail it."

And with that, Arthur slipped back out the way he had come, shutting the window evenly behind him and sheathing his sword with a  _schinck_ that rang through the still night.

He didn't look back, but if he had, he would have seen Merlin starting awake from some latent nightmare, clutching his chest because he had been sure there had been a sword there.

In the thin light of the moon slashing through the window, his shaken blue eyes shimmered with the slightest, defensive tendrils of gold.

 


	3. Trial One

Arthur would have been kidding himself if he thought he’d get any sleep that night.

He still got in bed. He’d paced for a bit – quite a long bit, actually – but it hadn’t done him any good. Instead, he just lay there, the three phases of his trial cycling in his mind as waited for Merlin to come wake him up in the morning.

He did, of course, as always. He didn’t knock – he never did – and he entered Arthur’s chambers as if it were his own, whistling to himself as he sauntered over to Arthur’s window as if he didn’t have a care in the world -- quite far from the truth. The sorcerer manservant spread Arthur’s curtains wide with two hands, showering the room in sunlight and burning the image of Merlin’s innocent figure into his retinas.

Arthur snapped his eyes shut before Merlin turned back around, but the manservant must have seen his eyelids flicker, because Arthur could hear his footsteps approach the bed before slowing. Arthur went rigid with apprehension – he’d been imagining this moment all night, the moment he would face Merlin again – but Merlin didn’t utter a word and the covers were not thrown off of him, as Arthur may normally expect.

It was about then that Arthur realised his heart was speeding like a charging horse. He knew, _knew,_ Merlin’s face was right next to his, but he cracked his eyes open a fraction anyway.

Merlin’s blue eyes stared back at him, very close and very clearly not tinged with gold. As Arthur stared at him he smiled that kooky smile of his, the one that lit up his entire face and usually meant he was about to fall over something. So innocent, so pure and so unsuspecting.

“Now hold _on,”_ Merlin whispered, cocking his head at him, and his voice – so much more chipper than last night – sent chills down Arthur’s spine.  “Are you awake _already?_ This is truly revolutionary. We should call the knights in and have a ceremony. A momentous occasion.”

“Ha ha,” Arthur murmured back despite himself. He was gripping his pillow in a death grip. He’d promised himself last night that he would do his best to keep up appearances and he was worried he wouldn’t be able to do it, but it was already quite a bit easier to do than he’d thought. Merlin practically set him up for responses.

He sat up slowly, still clutching the pillow, and Merlin laughed, giving Arthur his space as he attended to the stacks of paper occupying the desk. As Arthur stared at him – unmoving, per usual – it occurred to him that this was what every day must be like for Merlin – keeping up appearances. Talking to Arthur, joking around when he took the fancy, answering in his normal patterns… it had probably become routine for him, as had so many other things.

Because there he _was_. Normal Merlin, wearing one of his stupid red neckerchiefs and cleaning up some of the spilt ink on Arthur’s desk. If Arthur hadn’t seen what he’d seen, if the image of Merlin’s gold eyes hadn’t scared him forever, he wouldn’t have had the slightest idea that Merlin had casually summoned a dragon the night before.

_No one would._

It took Arthur a full minute to realise Merlin had stopped moving and was now looking at him strangely. He jolted, startled by Merlin’s blue gaze back on him so soon, and Merlin’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“What is it?” he asked, putting the quill in his hand down slowly. He crossed his arms in a very Merlin way, signaling that he was about to bother Arthur about something and not shut up about it. _Wonderful._

“I’m sorry?” Arthur managed, quirking an eyebrow in innocence.

“What’re you staring at me like that for?” Merlin pressed, looking indignant.

Arthur sniffed, clearly indignant, and he slipped out of bed. He gave Merlin a very pointed, nonchalant stretch. “Wasn’t staring.”

“Right…” Merlin said slowly. He uncrossed his arms, shooting Arthur a concerned look as he went back to the papers. “Are you feeling all right? First, I walk in here and you’re already awake. Now you’re oddly quiet and staring at me like I’ve grown a second head.”

Arthur snorted. “Now _there’s_ an idea!” he declared, and he was relieved to find his tone sounded normal. His heart was still beating loud in his ears, but at least he didn’t feel like bolting every time he looked at Merlin. “ _Mer_ lin, with two heads? Camelot would surely fall.”

It was Merlin turn to snort and any concern thankfully left his face. “Funny,” he said dryly. “Now, I take it by the state of _these – “_ He held up a few loose pages of unfinished speech pieces and waved it in Arthur’s direction. “ – that you did _not_ finish your speech for today?”

“Oh… yes.” Arthur stared at the speech pages for a moment, thinking back to how he’d abandoned them a bit before heading out to find Merlin. He’d not been in any right mind to go back to them afterward. “I wasn’t feeling very… inspired.”

 _“Inspired,”_ Merlin repeated in a mockery impression of Arthur’s voice. “I see. Well, lucky for you, I suspected as much and stayed up half the night writing a draft for you, so here it is.”

He pulled out a complete stack of papers, holding them out for Arthur. Arthur stepped forward and took them very slowly, looking over the neat handwriting he’d come to recognise as Merlin’s. He also vaguely remembered seeing the stack on Merlin’s side table last night. He had written it, then. He supposed the best liars dealt in half-truths.

Arthur skimmed over the first few lines and was not disappointed to find them written in _his_ manner of speaking, not Merlin’s. Merlin was indeed a very good writer and Arthur was reminded of how he’d once marveled at the mere fact that Merlin was literate. Most of the common folk could hardly write their own names.

But Merlin had always been different than the other servants. An enigma if he ever saw one, as unpredictable as he was predictable.

Arthur could never quite put his finger on what it was that set Merlin apart.

Now he was pretty sure he could. Had to be able to read spell books, didn’t he? _Write_ them, even. Who knew? There was so many possibilities, so many things about sorcerers that could very well apply to Merlin. A whole new realm of truths about his closest friend that Arthur just flat out _did not know_ and that fact shook him to the core.

But he could not let himself think about that now. Merlin was staring at him in concern again and once again it took Arthur far too long to notice.

Arthur cleared his throat roughly, giving the speech a nice tap. “Looks good,” he managed, hoping to pass this emotional slip up by as he had the last one.

This time, however, Merlin didn’t seem to be buying it. “There _is_ something bothering you,” the manservant said, and he crossed his arms again, much to Arthur’s dismay. “You never read the speeches I write beforehand. You just toss them aside until you need them.”

“Well, maybe that’s been a mistake now, hasn’t it?” Arthur countered, a bit more hotly than he had intended. “Maybe… maybe you wrote something in here I wouldn’t say. Something… I don’t know. Something harmful to my image.”

Merlin’s brow furrowed. “Why would I ever write something like that?” he questioned, confused. “That’s not even funny. If I wrote anything in there you wouldn’t say, you bet it would be something to humiliate you, but it wouldn’t be anything _harmful._ ”

 _Agh._ He’d done it now, let the tangled emotions shine through. Arthur’s face was red and he knew he was talking himself into a corner, but the words wouldn’t stop coming. That thought – that horrid possibility – that Merlin was only here to manipulate Arthur to his will was a bit too much. Merlin has so much control and Arthur had trusted him unconditionally. If Arthur were King here and now Merlin could probably write a law making magic legal and Arthur wouldn’t have noticed its submission until it was too late. Arthur had granted Merlin _that much_ influence and it scared him like nothing ever had.

“Well… well, why should I trust anyone but _myself_ to do such important things?” he exploded, the worries and emotion tumbling out of him as he waved the speech in Merlin’s face. “What if they only wanted to lead me _astray?”_

He regretted the words the moment they’d left his mouth. Merlin looked hurt, and that was everything Arthur had hoped to prevent. He’d wanted to keep up appearances, keep things normal so that he could administer his trail without arousing Merlin’s suspicion.

Perhaps he had given himself too much credit. He was more emotionally conflicted by this whole thing than he had wanted to admit and just _talking_ to Merlin was making his stomach twist and turn. The urge to run away had never burned so strongly.

“Lead you _astray?”_ Merlin repeated slowly, and pained confusion shown in his every feature. “Arthur, where is this coming from? Do you not trust me to write you speeches for you?”

“I – I’m not sure I should trust anyone with anything,” Arthur stumbled, voice thick with emotion as he lowered the speech with a shaking hand. “I… I can’t afford trust.”

Merlin stared at him for a very long moment, eyes wide with emotion too, and after a bit, he set his jaw.

“I think I know what this is,” he said.

Arthur’s heart leapt to his mouth. _Did he know?_ “You do?”

Merlin frowned deeply, giving Arthur a look of pure pity that Arthur hadn’t expected. “It’s your father, isn’t it?” he said. “Gaius mentioned to me last night that he was sending you after the Druids. Did he talk to you before I woke you?”

Relief Arthur also hadn’t expected flooded his system. Merlin still didn’t know he knew. “Ah, no…” he blubbered, recovering as he turned ever so slightly, heading toward his chair. “He didn’t, but I—I overheard him.”

Merlin nodded slowly, looking to his boots for a second in thought. “For what it’s worth I think it’s a good plan – going to the Druids,” he said.

Arthur stopped in his tracks, blood going cold. “R-really?”

“Well, yes,” Merlin responded, his voice casual. “It makes sense. The information on Emrys came from them initially. They might tell us more, if we ask. But I don’t think angering them is a good idea, and I’m worried that’s what Uther will ask you to do.”

Arthur turned around very slowly. _“We?”_ he repeated.

Merlin’s expression morphed into one of disbelief. “Were you going to seek out dangerous sorcerers without me?” he snorted.

Arthur abandoned the path to his chair completely, letting his hands fall to his sides. He thought his next words over very carefully. “The Druids are sorcerers, but I’ve heard them to be peaceful, usually,” he said.

“Peaceful doesn’t mean they aren’t dangerous,” Merlin argued. “I’m coming with you.”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “I have a feeling my father will order a small, _discrete_ team,” he pushed, hinting at a jab.

It struck true. Merlin’s ears went red. “I can be discrete!” he spluttered defensively.

Normally Arthur would grin at that, but instead his mind flew to Merlin’s less-than-discrete display last night. Clearly, Merlin wasn’t _that_ discrete.

Yet a cold feeling hit him as it occurred to him how many times Merlin _must_ have been discrete, however thinly. Merlin had hidden himself well, all this time.

Somehow, Arthur managed to give Merlin a slight shrug. “Very well,” he said. “If my father allows it.”

Merlin looked relieved at this and his shoulders slumped. “It’ll all work out fine,” he assured, but his words very definitely not assuring. “For all we know, this Emrys could be long gone from Camelot already.”

With that, Merlin began to walk toward Arthur’s chamber door and Arthur watched him very closely. “I doubt it,” he muttered darkly to himself, before lifting his chin ever so slightly. All his thoughts – all his planning from the night before – came rushing back to him. “Merlin?”

Merlin stopped, hand on the handle as he turned around. “What?”

Arthur took a few, careful steps backward and lowered himself into his chair, very slowly. “Can I ask you something, Merlin? Man to man?”

_This was it._

Trial number one had begun.

Merlin’s fingers slipped from the door handle. “Of course,” he answered. “What is it?”

Arthur gestured to the seat opposite him. “Sit,” he said.

As expected, Merlin appeared flabbergasted by the request – Arthur never asked him to sit – but he approached the chair cautiously. He hovered over it for a second, as if he were waiting for Arthur to announce that he was joking.

He didn’t, though, and Merlin eased himself into the chair in silence, eyeing Arthur. His features had taken on more of the look they’d had last night. Thoughtful. A bit on edge. “What is it?” he asked again.

Arthur leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table and lacing his fingers together. “All right, Merlin,” he said, sighing. “I admit I’m more conflicted about this Emrys than I’d liked to be. It worries me, the idea of a sorcerer more powerful than any other. Especially here. My father cares little for the why, but I do. I want to know why such a sorcerer would ever decide to hide here, of all places.”

Merlin raised an eyebrow ever so slightly, as if mulling over just how to address such a statement. For once, Arthur knew exactly what was going on in his tiny head… even if Merlin didn’t know he knew. It was if a whole new part of Merlin’s brain had been opened to him. Of course, Merlin had to think about a question like everyone else… but he also had such a different lens to put things through. A lens Arthur didn’t have.

The lens of a sorcerer.

“Why do you suppose _I_ would know?” Merlin asked finally. It wasn’t a fearful question, or even a defensive one, and normally Arthur would think nothing of it. This was not something he normally did, flat out asking Merlin for advice. Usually, the servant gave it to him without prompt, but this… none of this was normal for Arthur anymore. “I’ve never met him.”

“No,” Arthur agreed carefully, sitting back with a comfortable air, trying to put Merlin at ease. If he became too guarded, he might not give clear answers. “None of us have, because none of us know who he is or what he looks like. Of course, he could be here under a different name and we would have no way of knowing, but that’s not what really worries me. I just want to know the why, and I want your opinion, Merlin, because of what you said to me yesterday.”

Merlin raised both eyebrows this time. “What did I say yesterday?”

“That he must have a reason,” Arthur answered easily, raising an eyebrow himself. “I asked you why a great sorcerer would ever come here and you said he must have a reason. You’re the only one I’ve talked to about this whole thing that gave me any sort of answer. I agree, he must have a reason. But what? What do you think his reason is?”

Merlin stared at him for a very long moment. Arthur could practically see his thoughts whirling before he too sat back, very slowly.

He crossed his arms and Arthur read it as a defensive motion. “Sorcerers don’t do anything without a reason,” Merlin answered, his eyes locked with Arthur as he seemed to mull over every word before saying it. “That’s why I said that yesterday. Every sorcerer that has attacked Camelot has had a reason for it, one way or another, and they were all different. So this sorcerer must have a reason too. If his aim isn’t to harm Camelot, then it must be something else entirely. I don’t know what.”

Arthur cocked his head. His heart was racing, but he forced himself to remain flippant. Merlin’s words rang true and he didn’t think he was lying. “Okay, so if his aim isn’t to _harm_ Camelot,” Arthur pressed. “Do you think Emrys wishes to help it?”

Merlin’s face betrayed a flicker of a smile. “Would that be so impossible?” he whispered, his voice a little hoarse. “A sorcerer that wishes to help Camelot? Help _you,_ for whatever reason?”

Arthur crossed his arms in mirror of Merlin’s. He could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears. _This was it. This was his answer._ “I can’t imagine why,” he responded. “Between me and my father we have done nothing but persecute sorcerer kind.”

“That’s… true,” Merlin agreed, and he uncrossed his arms, resting them in his lap instead. He was no longer quite meeting Arthur’s eyes. “But maybe… maybe this sorcerer isn’t blinded by hatred like all the others. Maybe he just wants peace and to live his life without fear and… and maybe he sees something in you like I do.”

Arthur’s heart skipped a beat. Adrenaline went shooting through his system and he uncrossed his arms too, hoping Merlin hadn’t seen them shaking. This… this was so much _more_ than he’d been hoping for. A real answer. _He was getting his answer._ “Something in _me?”_ he repeated hoarsely. “What… what do you see in me?”

Merlin’s mouth quirked in the slightest of smiles. “A good person?” he breathed, almost in question, as if he wasn’t sure Arthur would like it as an answer. “A man, a – a prince and future king who cares very deeply about his subjects and understands the want for peace. I see that in you and I believe you will become the greatest King this land has ever known and… a-and sorcerers are humans too. It’s possible that there may be some that think the same as I do.”

The servant sat back hard, breathing shallow, as if saying that had taken a lot out of him. “It’s possible,” he said again, softly.

Any words Arthur had prepared left him in a rush. His mind went blank completely as he just gaped at Merlin.

“I… _hm.”_ Arthur cleared his throat roughly into his fist, taking it all in. His chest felt very tight. “Didn’t… ah. Didn’t know you felt that way, Merlin.”

Merlin snorted, a ghost of a smile on his face. “Is it that crazy I believe you’ll be a good king?”

“Ah, well… no,” Arthur supposed, his voice a little shaky. “I just… I don’t know. I don’t know what I expected you to say. Not that.”

“Hm.” Merlin rested a hand on the table, tapping his fingers on the wood and staring off into to space, which was lucky. Merlin moving his hand so fast had made Arthur flinch, that spike of fear the servant had never caused him before making itself known for the second time. That slight fear of magic. “Well, it’s all true, and if I believe it, maybe this Emrys does too.”

Arthur eyed Merlin very, very carefully as he ran his final question through his mind, testing the wording. The final level of trial one. “Merlin, if you think this… Emrys is really just here to help me…” he asked slowly. “Do you think he believes I’ll bring magic back to Camelot?”

Merlin ceased his tapping and locked eyes with Arthur almost immediately. His face was serious. “You mean, do you think he wants you to make it legal?”

“No…” Arthur trailed off, trying to find the correct phrasing. “I mean, do you think he _expects_ me to bring it back. On my own free will.”

Merlin exhaled through his teeth slowly, staring off into space again. “Well, I can’t speak for him,” he said, although he _could,_ and Arthur well knew it. “But if he’s been here long enough to see your good heart, I bet he’s optimistic. You see the good in people, Arthur, and maybe… maybe not all sorcerers are evil.”

Arthur’s breathing was shallow. His hands shook like leaves in the wind underneath the table. “You really believe that?”

Merlin’s eyes snapped to Arthur’s once again. “It doesn’t matter what I believe,” he said, and his voice was so sure, so _unshakable,_ Arthur could never believe he was lying. “It matters what _you_ believe. I can’t decide that for you.”

Arthur’s next breath came out as a wet gasp and he sat back very hard, heart racing. Merlin looked vaguely alarmed, but Arthur was so relieved he could hardly bring himself back to his senses.

_I can’t decide that for you… I can’t decide that for you… I. Can’t. Decide. That. For. You._

Merlin wasn’t enchanting him. Those words were no lie. Arthur could not bring himself to believe that they were anything less but the cold, hard truth.

Trial number one was complete.

Merlin had passed.

               

               

               

               


End file.
